


god only knows

by akmongs



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, That's it, mentions of drunk contrabbandieri, nico plays the ukulele for marti, they're soft and sottoni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akmongs/pseuds/akmongs
Summary: If you should ever leave me / though life would still go on, believe me / the world could show nothing to me / so what good would living do me?Nico plays ukulele for Marti. Marti feels fireworks in his chest.





	god only knows

**Author's Note:**

> so here's the thing: i haven't written fic in 5 years but i watched love actually and when "god only knows" rolled with the credits i remembered [this ukulele cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kf9UHKYEBGQ) i love and obviously i immediately thought about nico playing it for marti on his ukulele. so this happened
> 
> i wrote this at 3 am and it's very cheesy. i miss my boys and icb ludo didn't give us a new year's eve update
> 
> i highly recommend listening to the song while reading! there's some italian here and there, but translations are in the end notes if needed

Something Martino discovered recently is that Niccolò’s ukulele is more than just an excellent hiding spot for weed. It serves a higher, greater purpose tugging at his heartstrings.

The first time Niccolò had played it, they were lying in the same exact spot in Nico’s bed. It was the first morning they had ever spent together after a night that, months later, still felt unreal, like the product of someone's imagination. Lying on his back in Nico’s borrowed t-shirt and shorts, he had listened and laughed as Nico played a clash of chords and sang made-up lyrics about kisses in the pool. He had grabbed Nico’s ukulele, not much to annoy him as much as to save himself from the love that had threatened to choke him.

“Fuck you," Nico had said, playful, and Marti had turned his head and kissed him, upside down, like in a movie.

Niccolò had a beautiful voice. Marti learned it in Bracciano too, one endless month later, when Niccolò looked him in the eyes and sang _amore mio, comunque vada_ , making Marti’s heart skip a beat that he hasn't recovered yet. When Nico cupped his face with both hands, gentle, like he was holding his whole world his hands and Marti sang too, even if he was bad at it, even if he could hear a chant of "sottone" going off in the back of his head.

_Chi ha detto che tutto quello che cerchiamo non è sul palmo di una mano?_

In the freezing bedroom of that old lake house, Marti had never felt warmer.

Sometimes, when Marti closes his eyes, he runs a retrospective on the last three months of his life and it steals his breath. This uncontainable happiness. The unshakable, undisputable knowledge he wouldn’t want this any other way.

Two nights ago, at the stroke of midnight, he turned to the boy whose eyes held universes, kissed his tipsy smile with his own and whispered _buon anno_ on his lips.

“Buon anno, amore,” Niccolò whispered back, resting his forehead on Martino’s, one hand caressing his cheek, the other balancing a flute of spumante by his hip. Martino kissed the palm of Nico’s hand, the same way Nico had done on the school terrace, and they both smiled.

The fireworks in the sky would blush could they see the ones going off in Marti’s chest.

The moment was short-lived as a shitfaced Luchino, Elia and Gio enveloped them in a group hug, yelling "pomicioni" and starting a drunken conga line to the tune of trashy old songs playing on TV.

“ _Brigitte Bardot, Bardot, Brigitte beijou, beijou!_ " Luchino and Gio sang in unison, carrying on the conga line by themselves.

“You know, Marti, chi scopa a capodanno...” Elia teased, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Then sorry, bro, but I think Luchino is your only hope,” Niccolò chimed in before Marti could, earning an impressed cheer from both him and Gio.

“I'm up for it," said Luchino, blowing a kiss to Elia.

They had spent New Year's Eve pregaming at Nico's house, just the five of them. Gio, Elia and Luchino left after midnight to go to a party Peccio had invited them to, but Marti and Nico stayed in, and two days later Martino was still here, Nico’s parents in Umbria, Marti’s mom at her sister’s house in Cecina. Marti at home in Nico’s bed.

“You know this one?” Nico asked, playing the incipit of a song on the ukulele. Marti looked up at him and shook his head.

“No way. The Beach Boys, Marti.”

“Ni, you know I don't know half the music you listen to.”

“Even rocks know The Beach Boys," Nico said, teasing, shaking his head in that bouncy way of his and leaning down for a peck. He sat up, leaning back against the headboard, and resumed playing.

“What's it called?” Marti asked, moving to lay his head on Nico’s thigh.

“God Only Knows," Nico whispered. He cleared his throat and started singing.

Niccolò knew so much. He knew how to play and sing. He knew countless genres of music. He knew art and history. He knew languages. Marti was simultaneously in awe and scared not to be enough. But this time, Marti didn’t need to understand the words to know that Nico was singing a love song. That he was singing it for him. He could see it in Nico’s eyes. He could hear it in the warmth of his voice. He was singing quietly, almost pensively, as if the words were revealing an ancient truth to him.

Marti was hypnotized. Nico smiled mid-song and leaned down to kiss him again. One hand left the ukulele strings to sink in the hair at Marti's nape and lift his head, and Marti smiled and kissed back, his hand finding its natural spot on Niccolò’s neck on autopilot.

It was contagious, smiling when Nico did, smiling into kisses, and Marti smiled so much his face hurt sometimes. On Nico's good days, he was always singing or humming or playing imaginary piano keys and that was contagious too.

They kissed and kissed, a gentle thing, unhurried, then deeper, Nico tracing Marti’s upper lip with his tongue, Marti trailing down to lightly brush his lips on his chin, the corner of Nico’s lips, then up, kissing the freckles on his nose.

“Finish playing. I like it," he whispered, smiling up at Nico, who was staring at him with the same fondness that Marti knew he was reflecting in his own eyes. He snapped him out of it and Nico grinned, nodded and picked up the ukulele.

Marti settled back on Nico’s thigh and closed his eyes.

_Dio solo sa cosa sarei senza di te._

**Author's Note:**

> sottone = smitten (but i am sure you know this)  
> buon anno, amore = happy new year, my love  
> chi scopa a capodanno... (scopa tutto l'anno) = italian wisdom says "get laid on new year's eve and you'll get laid the whole year"  
> the last sentence is a translation of the lyrics "god only knows what i'd be without you"
> 
> thank you for reading! any sort of feedback is appreciated. come say hi on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/gingersuho) or [tumblr](https://faresramettas.tumblr.com/)!


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